What's good for the Goose
by diva.gonzo
Summary: Hermione is shopping in a bookstore on her lunchbreak, and comes across a table of books in the children's department. She spies one that takes her back to her childhood when she was five, and memories of that day in a book shop in Bicester. Story originally written for the Ollivander's Challenge on Tumblr. Story set about a year before the start of Fresh Sheets.


**What's good for the Goose**

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_prompt: __Hermione's life before Hogwarts __For simplypotterheads' __Ollivander's Challenge on Tumblr dot net._

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_**Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I certainly don't own a bushy haired insufferable know it all - but she would be welcome to read in my library. I might even brew her a pot of real tea too.**_

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Hermione stepped into Waterstone and felt at home. It wasn't her favorite bookstore, but it was convenient to work. There was nothing like the smell of parchment and ink, linen and binding glue to welcome her. The smells were her first association in her amortentia, more than freshly mown grass, spearmint toothpaste, and Ron's hair. The only place that was more welcoming, besides her husband's embrace, was walking into Flourish and Botts. Walking into that bookstore and smelling the old leaves of parchment in leather binding books was as much home as her home is.

She walked the aisles, perusing the latest titles. The ones on the front table looked rubbish, and from what she read of the reviews, they were rubbish. _I rather have a classic today._

She strolled back among the cases, passing the various baubles that were useful. Bookmarks, pens, and leather covered journals dotted the display cases. The section she wanted was further back, away from the latest releases. Many people didn't frequent the darker corner of the store, away from the front doors. That suited her just fine.

The literature section was where she normally made her home, ensconced in the classics that were normally overlooked. Regular customers stayed up front, looking at the magazines and other best sellers. They weren't her friends, those whom she can escape when life gets too much.

Hermione walked through the children's department, on the way to the classics when she spotted a plethora of children's books stacked on a display table. There were so many new books for children to read. Many were bright and colorful and barely exciting to read.

She paused when she saw the book on the back corner of the table, just a few remaining of that particular title. She froze when she saw the checkerboard border and the old style illustration on the front cover. A smile crawled along her face when she saw the baby in the basket, the witch's hat with prominent glasses and monk strap shoes that were now fashionable on the other side of the wall to Diagon Alley.

Memories flashed in her eyes, one of a bushy haired swot barely older than her daughter at home, screaming bloody murder in a bookshop in Bicester.

Her first, and only tantrum, was over a book.

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Hermione stood in the middle of Cole's Bookshop screaming in a tantrum. Her hair was a mess, and she threw herself onto the carpeted ground yelling her head off. It didn't matter that Mummy said no. It didn't matter that Daddy said no. She wanted that book.

"Hermione, stop it right this instant."

"Mummy! I want that book!"

"Hermione, we said no and we mean no. Now come along."

She howled from the floor, refusing to budge from her spot on the ground. "I want it!" she screamed through her wails.

"For the last time, we said no. Now come along."

"No! Not without that book!"

Other patrons were watching her, but her temper was full blown. One smiled at her, and just frustrated her further. She watched an older man, shorter than her father, talking quietly before giving her a mean look and walking off. Another woman was quietly talking with her Mum while she was screaming. A smile and she left too. All that was left were her parents, and a person dressed in a bowtie.

"Now, Hermione."

"No! I want it. You can't make me leave!"

Hermione flung herself down on the carpet and beat her little fists on the ground. She kicked and screamed like she was being tortured by not getting another book.

"Hermione Jean , that is enough!" her father roared at her. "You stop this instant."

Hermione continued to kick and yell. "No! You can't make me."

Mum stood before her and crossed her arms. "Fine then. We'll be back for you this evening," said her Mum quietly. "The owner said that you can stay here with him and read today. He'll keep an eye on you and we'll come back and pick you up tonight."

Hermione looked up from the floor, ceasing her tantrum for a second. An older gentleman in a bowtie stepped up to her parents. "This is the owner, Christopher Cole. You mind him while we're gone."

Hermione moved to sitting up, but Drs. Granger turned and walked to the front of the store and walked out.

"Daddy!" Hermione whispered. Tears started falling. "Mummy? Come back Mummy!"

She watched the seconds tick by and her parents didn't return. Tears turned to sobs. _They left me? They left me. How could they? _Hermione continued to sit in the floor, letting the tears fall freely. _They left me! _Hermione put her head in her hands and wept bitter tears.

Seconds passed and Hermione looked back up and around her. No one was paying her any attention. Slowly, the tears stopped.

_Books. _She focused, and realized there were books on the shelf next to her. Books everywhere called to her. Her tears stopped, giving rise to the realization in a five year olds mind that they gave her what she wanted, if not exactly what she expected.

_They said they would return. Why not?_

Hermione looked up and saw the kind looking gentleman with the bowtie looking down at her. He smiled then went back to work behind the counter.

Hermione wiped her face on the hem of her frock, trying to pull herself together, and reached for the book she wanted. It was leather bound hardback, heavy, and just what she wanted to delve into. Etched on the cover was something simple: _Grimm's Fairy Tales._

For the next hour, she was enthralled, not noticing that her parents sat quietly outside the window, watching her read while ignoring the world around her. The fairy tale astounded her, reading about magic and an evil witch. The words on the page were occasionally a struggle, and she couldn't understand some things, but she read through it, ignoring the few pictures in the book.

Hermione gently closed the huge book, and picked up the next one. There was a black and white checkerboard around the outside of it, along with an old illustration on the front. This book wasn't as large, or as imposing as the other one, but it looked like she could manage it.

She opened the book, and started reading. This book was better than the other one. She could read this one without anyone to help her. She could sit quietly reading this to herself so she wouldn't disturb Daddy in his study or Mummy during dinner.

Pages later, she noticed a pair of men's shoes standing in front of her. Hermione closed the book, gently holding her place in the pages. She craned her neck upward and saw the gentle smile of the owner in front of her.

"Miss Hermione, your parents are back."

Hermione looked up and over her shoulder to her parents standing behind her. It was dark outside.

She looked back at Mr. Cole. His smile was so warm and kind. She handed over the book to him before dusting herself off from sitting on the carpet in his shop. A quick straighten of her frock and she was ready to leave.

Her father held his hand out and she took it gently. Hermione looked upon her Dad and saw he wasn't upset – far from it. He seemed to be smiling slightly. Her Mum on the other hand was upset. "Come Hermione. You've dallied long enough."

The shop owner cleared his throat. "Miss Hermione, aren't you forgetting something?"

Hermione turned around, and the bookshop owner handed the book back to her. "Here you are," he said quietly.

Hermione wouldn't take it. The bushy haired swot stood there quietly, looking for askance from her father.

"But sir, we can't – "

The gentleman smiled. "Nonsense. Once she started reading the first book, I never heard a peep out of her. She was so good, just sitting there reading. By all means, if that little book in her hands helps, then I will have done the world a favor." Mr. Cole smiled gently. "Scrimp in other ways if you need, but keep her imagination fed. She'll be worth it."

The proprietor handed back the book of nursery rhymes to Hermione, who was standing stock still.

"But why sir? Why is she special to get a book for free?"

"Growing up poor, we didn't have many books. The war started, and there was less. The library I went to was bombed out one day during the War – and my mum wouldn't let me go back in there until it was repaired. She was worried I would get hurt among the debris. Those months while the library was moved to a house on the next block was the hardest. Books were my only friend, my only comfort, during those hard days."

He sighed. "I said once I was old enough, I'd have a bookstore. Now I do and I see how special your daughter is. I don't mind giving her a book. She looks like she'd appreciate it."

The gentleman smiled. "It's not free, mind you. I'm making an investment in her future."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Hermione took the proffered book.

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Hermione lay in the sterile bed listening to her husband snore in the chair next to her. It had been a hard day of labor, and she was exhausted. The bundle of pink and ginger nestled to her chest was a comfort now that her precious daughter had fed and fallen asleep.

Hermione looked to the other side of the bed and saw her mother reading quietly. The room finally settled down after the cavalcade of Weasley family traipsed through earlier. Harry and Ginny took James home with them, along with Arthur and her Father. Dad wanted to stay, but Arthur insisted the men go out and celebrate.

Hermione chuckled and her mum looked up from her book. "Something funny dear?"

"I was just thinking of Dad."

"What about?"

"He wanted to stay, and nearly had a fit that Arthur wanted to go to a pub and celebrate. You'd think he was me throwing a tantrum."

Jean Granger smiled. "You never had another tantrum after that day, if I recall. As long as you had a book handy, we could take you anywhere and do anything."

"I was a swot that day, wasn't I?"

"You were a child throwing a tantrum. I thought we handled it well at the time."

"Why did you say no that day?"

"You broke a vase, and when you said you didn't touch it, we didn't believe you. I thought you were lying at the time and that was part of your punishment. I thought we were teaching you consequences about lying to us." Jean shrugged. "We didn't know that you were magical at the time and didn't understand about your special gifts. It was only when the lady in the hat – "

"Headmaster McGonagall is her name."

" – Headmistress McGonagall showed up and informed us of how special you were, and that what the weird things that happened was your unrestrained magic that happened. Once we understood why these things were happening, that's when everything changed."

Hermione looked at the sleeping bundle in her hands. "I can lie with impunity now, but I choose not to. I also still have a hard time trusting others." Hermione's face darkened further in the dim light. "I got what I wanted then, but I had issue with Ron later on due to it."

"Was that when Ron walked out and didn't return for some considerable time?"

Hermione nodded. "We've learned from it since then. We don't walk out when we're rowing since we got married. Maybe go into another room to settle down but we won't abandon the other. I love my husband, but he gets on my last nerve sometimes."

"I didn't realize until after you married that was a problem," Jean affirmed. "We didn't leave you. We kept watch where you didn't notice. But you had your head in the book almost immediately and were fine from then on."

Hermione looked at her Mum. "You came back. That was what mattered most."

"I'm sorry. I know we weren't perfect parents for you. We should have believed you when you said you didn't do things."

"Thank you, but don't be. It made me who I am." Hermione shrugged, moving her arm to shift her daughter to her chest. "I fell in love with reading from that first book I received from Mr. Cole. I was in there last month talking with him, and buying an armful once again."

"You went all the way to Bicester to buy books? That's a bit of a ways for even you Hermione."

"Nonsense. You forget I don't have to drive from Cardiff to London. It's nothing otherwise."

The ladies were quiet for a spell. "Do you still have that book Mr. Cole gave you?"

"No." Hermione frowned. "It was in the house when the Death Eaters came and wreaked havoc in the house. It was on the shelf in my room above the desk, but they incinerated it. My book was burned."

"Did you want another copy of it?"

"I already replaced it. I have an updated copy at home that I purchased from him when I found out I was pregnant. I hope to read it to Rose when she needs a bedtime story."

Hermione looked down on the stirring bundle in her arms. She shifted around but her Mum stood up from the chair. "You sleep a little. I'll take her for a walk down the hallway, maybe put her in the bassinet and rock her some."

Hermione shook her head. "I've learned. I'll take her word when she tells me she didn't do something." Hermione handed her daughter to her Mum and sighed. "I won't abandon her," she said fiercely.

Jean Granger looked down on her daughter. "You never will. You'll make mistakes, and have regrets. She could be half a world away and you'd still look after her. She'll hurt you, and break your heart, but she'll always be your daughter, just like you are for me."

Jean kissed her daughter on her forehead before leaving the room with her granddaughter.

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Hermione stepped up to the counter of Waterstone with her arms laden with more books. She had another copy of her childhood favorite for Ginny and Lily, along with a copy of the leather bound dark fairy tales that first captivated her eyes. Her niece would love the children's book, full of whimsical tales, unlike the tome in her hands. The embossed leather and parchment pages enchanted her once again, almost 30 years later. The pages of that tome didn't tell of happy endings, or rescuing damsels in distress. Those tales were as close to real life as she had lived them fifteen years prior and continued to live them now.

_Fin_

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_A/N: The book in question is the old time classic version of The Real Mother Goose, which can be found on Amazon.  
A/N2: This prompt fit perfectly for something I witnessed and helped deal with last weekend when I was out shopping with my Mom. The little girl I helped was about the same age as this story, and as upset as well. The little girl in real life didn't get her book, at least that I know of. - DG_


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